


How do you want your breakfast

by emolitt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breakfast, Destiel - Freeform, Doubt, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:39:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emolitt/pseuds/emolitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed fine, until doubt had to crash the party.</p><p> </p><p>Another episode from the universe where everything is simplified and Sam is on extended holiday in Yucatán! or something</p>
            </blockquote>





	How do you want your breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> It started out as another short story but got a whole lot longer. I feel like I got a little lost with this one, but hopefully it still makes some sense..

The first time they’d had breakfast together was about a week after Cas had arrived and seemingly decided to stay. Dean had woken up, in his opinion disgustingly early, that morning. Not having been able to go back to sleep, he had given up his warm, no longer sufficiently comfortable bed to go and make some coffee. To his surprise, soft noises had been emerging from the kitchen. And when he had entered he had found Cas making a sandwich with more care that would have been required for petting a sick baby bird. They had looked at each other with matching surprise, but neither had said anything. Dean had shuffled across the floor to make his coffee while Cas, a little more staccato now, had returned to his slices of bread. It had been … nice. And then Dean to his surprise had woken up just as early the next day, intensely hoping Cas would be there. He had been. And after that, Dean had made the decision to set his alarm.

As the days passed, their first accidental breakfast bump-in turned into a daily rendezvous – an unspoken agreed upon morning ritual. Waking up early became second nature, and every morning as he wandered down to the kitchen he felt the glowing anticipation of seeing Cas look up a moment to acknowledge his presence before returning to the task of distributing spread on an almost even slice of bread. Dean would never have believed watching the progress in someone’s sandwich-making skills could be so satisfying. 

But gradually, an uninvited lump of doubt had started to grow. _Why is he so quiet?_ At first, Dean hadn't paid much attention to how Cas drifted into his thoughts more and more. _What is he thinking of now?_ _What if I made him pancakes tomorrow, would he like that..? What can I talk about to get a conversation going? Why doesn't he ever talk? Doesn't he want me here?_

How _did_ Cas feel about this? At first, he had been so stiff and awkward. He hadn’t been able to relax, instead seemed to be taking extra care not to take up any more space, or make any more noise than necessary. But it hadn’t bothered Dean then. He had assumed mornings and breakfast were parts of adjusting into a fulltime human lifestyle. And now Cas seemed contentedly settled. But what if he had just decided to accept the breakfast invasion? What if he didn’t actually enjoy Dean’s company at all, but didn’t dare to say anything? Though he no longer proactively avoided getting too close, they never talked with each other. _What if he doesn’t want me here?_

Never before in his life had Dean cared that much what people thought about him. But the thought that maybe Cas was unhappy with the recurring intrusion made him feel very uncertain. Doubt nagged on in his mind all through the next breakfasts, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking for clues to what Cas really felt. Cas appeared calm and deep in thought, chewing, not really taking in the world around him. He must have wanted to be on his own, though, and that was why he had gotten into the habit of having breakfast so early to begin with. He probably still felt the same way, but had learned Dean’s routines and how to work around them. Just the way he could easily fade into any background whenever he wanted not to be noticed. _He wants to be alone. He doesn’t like having to share this time of day with anyone else. Not even ..._ Dean didn’t want to admit it to himself. But he had been hoping Cas would eventually invite him into his private morning bubble. Doubt multiplied in his head all through the day and continued consuming him from inside his own head, until he finally fell asleep. 

When Dean woke up the following morning, his body felt like a cold river churning with icy undercurrents. The certainty that Cas much preferred being alone kept him nailed to the mattress. He glanced at the clock on the table and watched time pass. Cas should be in the kitchen now, having it all to himself again. Dean imagined him, left alone at last, free from having to care about anyone else. The vision of blue eyes looking at him popped into his head. Something in his chest ached and created a gaping hole where the comfort of the breakfast routine should have been. Every muscle felt like they had been replaced by anvils. He forced his focus back to the clock. Through the subtle ticking, he thought he heard footsteps outside his door: approaching, stopping, then leaving. Nothing else happened for what felt like an eternity, though the ticking told him seven minutes. Then there were the sound of footsteps again. But this time there was a soft knocking. His breath caught halfway down his throat. Fourteen seconds later, the door slid open and Cas' face appeared. Upon seeing Dean awake and staring back, his eyes nearly popped out of his head in a mixture of relief and disappointment. But he didn’t look away. Instead he opened the door some more and shuffled over the threshold. Eyes glued on Cas, Dean wrenched his upper body out of the human-shaped foam-dent. 

“Wh…” he began. Cas made a move as to turn on his heels, but then steadied. Adjusting his voice to be a little softer, Dean started over. “What are you doing here?” Now Cas’ gaze dropped. His whole body appeared to drop, actually. Looking like a wilted leaf, he murmured something and Dean was so surprised at hearing him speak he almost didn’t catch the words. “You weren’t at breakfast.” Confusion hit Dean over the head like a landslide. He hadn’t come down to breakfast, so …Cas had come to him? 

“Are you …not well?” Cas suddenly added. The mumbling was just as low, but his voice had a hint of pleading. It nearly broke Dean’s heart to hear the unspoken question. _Are you sick of me?_ He had been so sure Cas wanted to be alone, but instead it seemed his absence had been vastly misunderstood. All of a sudden he wanted nothing but to stride over and hug him tightly. His eyes were red and his vision blurred, but he blinked the room back into focus. ”I’m so sorry.” He scrambled out of bed but didn’t dare go any closer. “I…“ What could he say? _I assumed you wanted to be alone, and that thought was so unbearable I couldn’t get out of bed! In fact I think I may be in love with you! And I-- Hold on._ _…!?_ He could feel his insides blanch as realisation tumbled through him. Cas looked worried, but now entirely on Dean’s behalf. He followed Dean’s movements, as he sat down with all the grace of a dead fish, and looked relieved that Dean didn’t faint. 

After a few deep gulps of air Dean gave speech another attempt. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I like breakfast.” What? _Try again, you dumbass!_ He cleared his throat. “Breakfast is my favourite part of the day … when I get to have them with you.” Cas’ eyes popped at him again. “But I thought that you didn’t …” It hurt just almost saying it. “I thought that you didn’t want to spend them with me.” With a defeated expression, Cas’ head tilted slightly. “You’re so quiet and reserved, like you’re pretending I’m not there.” It almost sounded like whining. The slump sagged back into Cas’ posture. “If you want to be alone, all you –“ Dean  swallowed. “All you have to do is tell me.” The silence that followed dragged like a talon over naked skin. 

Cas walked to the bed and sat down. “I know I was … distant in the beginning. When you appeared that morning, you made me feel very self-aware about something I was learning to appreciate. And it is true that I had wanted to be alone then. I’d never had the luxury of being on my own like that before.” 

Dean stared, and tried visualising how it must feel like, after a billion years of orders and commandments, to suddenly be allowed to simply sit down and have a cup of coffee and peace of mind. 

“But then you insisted on joining me every morning, and it made me feel welcome. … Wanted.” Was Dean imagining it, or had he come closer? He was definitely leaning on his hand on the bed between them. And when Cas continued talking, there was a more pronounced intensity in his voice. “I am very sorry that you misinterpreted my continued silence as disinterest in your presence. I enjoyed not having to talk and wasn’t aware of that it bothered you.” 

 “You don’t have to apologise. Please don’t apologise.” Dean injected. “But I want you to understand," Cas almost cried. "I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to be with you.” Cas abruptly snapped his mouth shut, and Dean’s eyes widened.   

Now _this_ was an awkward silence. 

After a few seconds, Dean stretched out his hand and put it, palm up, right next to the one Cas was leaning on. “You want me– to uh, you want to be with me?” Cas’ fingers twitched and made contact with Dean’s. He had not expected the feeling of a horizontal lightningbolt to sear through his entire upper body. To regain control, he grabbed the other man’s fingers, who gasped. 

“Tell me what you want. “ 

Another silence. 

Then Cas suddenly tugged him off balance and into a painful face-on-face collision. With a grunt of pain Dean’s hands flew to the disaster area, and when he uncovered his eyes a moment later, he was staring right into a slightly trembling mask of worry. 

“I didn’t do that right.” 

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. But before Cas could retreat to the far end of the bed, Dean grabbed his face between his hands and looked at him. It was Dean's turn to tremble now. _Steady_ , he commanded himself. 

“Tell me what you want.” _Please._

Cas seemed to process a lot of thoughts at once. Then he sighed heavily and looked Dean directly in the eyes. And with an intensity that sent shivers down Dean’s spine, Cas finally told him. 

“I want you.“ 

Dean pulled Cas closer. Or maybe Cas had decided to lean forwards. Neither was sure. But their faces crashed into each other again. This time the speed was more preferable. The aim was more true. And it lasted longer. The lightning had returned, with all its friends, raising the most wonderful hell in Dean’s chest. He had lost all interest in breakfast when he, at some point in time later, asked, “And what about breakfast?” 

“It can wait.”


End file.
